The Killings of my Fuckable Night Terrors...

And it kills me to think that he loved her so much. She was a dear friend to me at some point in the past.  She meant a lot to me before he fucked her except he never fucked her. He loved her.  She left him and moved across the country and he still loved her and waited for the temptress to come back into his heart so he could shoot himself back up with her intoxication.  She never loved him. She loved the drugs more. She loved the scene and noise and men and fucking and needles and dancing and all the fucking colors, but she never loved him. T

he night she left for good he came to my couch that night and fucked me instead.  But he only fucked me.  What he knew before her, was me.  What he knew after her, was me.  But what he never "really" knew was me.  He knew me on the inside.  But from down below. He knew the way I felt, the way I tasted. He saw a part of me that people still to this day never see.

He loved her.  She was bland.  I knew her. She really was bland.  Seasoning missing among the whitest of yellow meat. She was so fucking bland but played the band so well. She played her colors sooo well.  We share similar minds except, I'm colorful and fun.  I loved him. I was shy. She loved him and she threw him away. She knew I loved him but forgot.

We were adults then.  We're adults now. He waited for her.  He waited so long for her that years later after he fucked me again he explained how he was waiting for his love to come back not realizing he was talking to someone who had loved him before he knew her name; she only knew his because of me, and it wasn't truly his name. 

And now she's just a romance from the past.  Looking back as though time never got away. But they're not friends.  She left him.  He fucks me. Again. Again. Again. Then I fall in love with someone who fit his description since I knew I could never have him again.  But this love of mine fails to take his place in my heart. So I leave... and I fuck again.

Heartbroken. Reality settles in and I'm comfused because I'm loving him but I have someone to go home to that actually loved me.  He never loved me he only fucks me. But he knows me soo well and my love is home and knows nothing of me.  They do not know each other. But they have a lot in common. They have shared me and known nothing of it.  Their birthdays are a day a part,  I tried to love someone else and I keep going back.  Except this time......

There was no response.  The was no reply.  There was no return.  He vanished. He's gone. And all that keeps sitting in my head is how much I'm not like her though our birthdays are so close and our colors have always matched, and she was in MY fucking circle of friends, and I had him FIRST! and HOW MUCH I'M JUST NOT LIKE HER AND NO MATTER HOW HARD I FUCKING TRY HE WILL ALWAYS LOVE HER AND ONLY FUCK ME AND NOW I AM FORGOTTEN. HE WILL NEVER LOVE ME. I WILL NEVER HAVE HIS HEART AGAIN.


.... It's because I left him when we were children, again as teenagers, and one more time as adults.  Three strikes you're out Ms. Midnight. Bang Bang you're dead to him now.  And he'll always love her no matter how much you two are alike and you continue to go home and return to the love that resembles a love you will never fucking have and it kills you every day that you think about it. He's gone.....

and you're fucked.


-LR